The Fallen Angel
by Godzilla720
Summary: The Dark Lord was contemplating ways to amuse himself while his followers carried out his plans, when a thump is heard. When he goes to investigate, what else should he find but a Fallen Angel, who seems set on annoying him. Just a normal, abnormal day at Malfoy Manor. Just a bit of sillyness. TR/OC


_I get the weirdest idea's when I watch cartoon spoofs of Harry Potter. Well, hope you enjoy. _

The Dark Lord walked along the edges of the Malfoy estate, wishing he had made a different plan, one that evolved him going outside the large, but now stuffy mansion. He might be insane, but that didn't mean he couldn't recognized a flawed plan. In fact it made him all the more aware of the flaws. It annoyed him to no end, really. But action had been needed, and he did not have all the time in the world to plan things that could be easily solved with slightly problematic, but fast solutions.

He supposed he could read, but the many books in the Malfoy Library, were all on topics that he had extensive knowledge on. There was always room for improvement he supposed but that was what he was doing, although he felt like he was doing nothing, he was improving the world. Or at the very least the wizarding world. He didn't have any need to improve his wand work. It was impeccable and so strong that the old, bearded fool would even have a hard time.

He could always have a go at the prisoners, down in the holding cells. But, they were all unconscious and he really felt a deep, running sense of boredom, every time he was faced with their quivering forms.

So what was he to do?

One of the proud, white feathered peacocks strutted past him, feathers trailing behind.

"Avada Kedavra." He spoke lazily, wondering if Lucius would buy another to replace the now very much dead peacock. Perhaps Snape could use the feathers in a potion.

He definitively needed to find something to keep him occupied, if he was contemplating such useless things. He had a set scheduled for planning his attacks and he had already spent two hours longer than he usually did, therefore messing up the even amount of work he had set up for every day.

So perhaps a meal? But he wasn't hungry. He could go out and hunt some muggles (not for eating mind you, but for sport)... but he had long since decided that there would be no attacks for exactly three months, to build up suspense He wanted the fear of the plan that was causing him to stop all muggle attacks to strike deep into the hearts of everyone. His followers included.

So then, perhaps he would- his train of thought was cut off abruptly by the sound of a thump, and a strangled moan. His wand flew out of his robes, before he could resister what his brain had already decided to do.

Investigate.

It wasn't hard to follow the sound, since his years of self training and careful weariness had put him on edge, and therefor improved his senses, hearing included.

When he reached the sound, he was confused, a feeling which did not often plant itself into dark lords.

It was a ball of feathers. A mass of them, in neat rows, blood spattered. Moaning in pain.

The mound moved slightly, before something poked out of it. His wand was aimed at the thing, whatever it may be, hanging lazily from his long, spidery fingers. A head. A head with ruffled, unruly hair, the color of clouds at sunset was what had poked out. It was an odd color, and one he had never seen on hair.

"Hmm, ugh." It's eyes were closed, and scrunched with what seemed to be pain.

Whatever it was, it was keeping him occupied. He cast a quick 'Wingardium Leviosa' watching in fascination as it rose, the feathers, which he now recognized as wings, wrapping around whatever was the main part of the thing. Perhaps a try at Animaga gone wrong? Possibly, but that did not explain why the thing was on Malfoy land. Then again, maybe it had been a bird, but had changed mid flight? The theory was becoming more plausible now.

"Put me down," Said a muffled voice from inside the cocoon of feathers. "Or I'll make you."

Clearly the thing, female, by the sound of its voice, did not realize she was talking to the dark lord, soon to be ruler of the wizarding world. She had to be punished.

He lifted the charm abruptly, sending her to the floor.

"Crucio," But something had happened, and the dark lord could feel his own magic rebelling, and turning away from the form. He had hovered above the ground before being gently lowered, rather than dropped carelessly.

"Naughty, naughty Mr. Riddle. Don't you try it again, or you may find your lovely little spells suddenly backfiring." The dark lord's feet sent him reeling back, in shock. What was this? Or rather, who was this? He had to know.

"Who are you-what, are you!?"

"Patients, Mr. Riddle."

The dark lord could feel his blood boiling.

"Do not, ever, call me that." He could feel his wand raising, a curse on the tip of his tongue before he remembered that if he did so, it would not work, and may even be used against him. He was now as defenselessness as one of the useless muggles, The feeling of helplessness settled around him and made his whole body want to crumple in on itself.

"Wait while I heal." It spoke again, wings curling tighter to its form.

"That could take weeks, even months. You cannot heal out here, as I wait. Now tell me."

He got no response back. The dark lord was feeling challenged. He did not like it, nor did he wish to tolerate it. He decided to test the limits. Some magic had to work on the thing, he had, after all, levitated it.

A stinging hex was sent and came running back, causing his leg to cry out in pain. She had not been lying. All the same, it was good to know for certain. He tried another. A simple, cleaning and freshening spell. It did not fire back at him. In fact her wings were now clean, and well groomed, looking as if they may actually work.

So spells that worked in her favor were permitted? How was that possible? He did not know of any kind of shield that worked to block 'bad' spells but welcomed the 'good'. Perhaps this women had created one? If so, he was glad it had run into him. Perhaps he could use it for his followers. It may just shock the light into giving up. But then again, all of the light seemed to retain the characteristics of idiotic, trouble seeking, big headed Gryffindor's. Oh what fun when Harry Potter was dead. He could imagine the chaos, the despair, the hopelessness. It chased his bad mod away.

"There we are." The wings unfolded slowly, as the now visible form sat up. It was a women, with delicate features and mussed hair. She startled him. Pale. Deathly pale, and beautiful in the most subtle way.

"Thank you for waiting Mr. Riddle, however impatiently."

"I thought I told you not to call me that?"

"I'm afraid I must call you that, as that it your name."

_So? Review.~Z_


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